Britannia 560Captured by Picts. I am tortured for the pleasure of their chieftain. But there is one, a boy with wide blue eyes. He tries to hide his face from my pain but he is forced to watch. Squeamish, no. I see only sorrow in him as his father guides the knife in his hand across my chest.

England 1630A glance across an overcrowded stuffy ballroom. Blue eyes meet green as we pass. I get a strange sharp pain across my chest. I raise my hand to my heart and he sees. A small smile passes over his face and I am lost.

France 1919I am a spy. I wait for my contact in a tiny out of the way French tavern. A british soldier stares at me quite unashamedly with those impossibly blue eyes. I catch him staring as I reach for my drink, cigarette in hand. He looks away quickly but I see the flush rise in his cheeks. Perhaps it's the closeness of this tavern. Perhaps not.

America 1962He drags me out of the ocean denying me my revenge and for a moment I am tempted to turn my power on him. Then I hear his voice in my head. //You have to let it go. If you don't, you'll die. Calm your mind.// Our eyes meet and I know him. I see it in him as well. It's almost too easy to slip into a comfortable routine. Become accustomed to his presence. But then there is a beach. And all the wrong things are said. And I cannot stop him drawing away from me. Again.